


Le petit phare au bord de l'eau

by bonecharms



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Bloodletting, F/M, Gothic, Human/Vampire Relationship, Loss of Virginity, Rape/Non-con Elements, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:40:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22512640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonecharms/pseuds/bonecharms
Summary: “Darling,” he said slowly, voice low. Raising a hand to her cheek, he brushed an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “If you are looking for salvation, that’s more than I can offer you.”A naive courier is courted by a mysterious stranger, but she will soon realise there is more to him than meets the eye.
Relationships: Female Courier/Vulpes Inculta
Comments: 11
Kudos: 43





	1. Nocturne

_The last I saw of Count Dracula was his kissing his hand to me, with a red light of triumph in his eyes, and with a smile that Judas in hell might be proud of._

Bram Stoker

It was a cruelly cold night, the wind whistling past and biting sharp at the courier’s cheeks as she made her way through Freeside. Her teeth beginning to clatter together, she clutched her coat tighter around her body, focusing intently on the beacon of the Lucky 38, beckoning her to its warmth and sanctuary. Overhead, the streetlights flickered as moth wings passing over a candle, and the woman eyed the two roads in front of her, pausing a moment before deciding on the shorter route through the alleyways.

As she turned down the dark road, she took stock of the group of men gathered there and determined to slip past unnoticed, her clothes loose enough not to betray her form. But as she moved to pass them, she found a light-haired man blocking her path, shifting when she tried to step around him.

“I have no time to spare,” she said, in a voice as strong and sure as she could manage. “My friends are expecting me.”

The tallest of the three clicked his tongue. “I’m sure they won’t mind a small delay. We won’t keep you long.”

She could not remember if she had screamed when they put their hands on her; certainly, she had fought, thrashing at their touch as though it would scorch her skin. There had been shouting, swearing, a blur of shadows and sounds. But then, seemingly as quickly as it had begun, it ended—suddenly there was a silence ringing in her ears, and she found herself curled on the pavement, head tucked under her arms as an animal withdraws in self-defence.

“Are you alright?” After a moment, the courier realised the voice belonged to the man standing in front of her; not one of the original three, but tall and slim, fitted in a shirt and jacket—the fabric was brown and thin, and the woman thought to herself that he would be lucky not to catch a chill in it. Her eyes focused as if suddenly awakening, and she realised he had been holding a hand out to help her stand. At her apparent reluctance, he smiled. “I promise I won’t bite.”

Chastising herself, she took the offer, allowing him to help her to her now-unsteady feet.

“Thank you for helping me,” she managed after a moment, brushing the dust from her clothes in an attempt to compose herself.

“There is always time for a damsel in distress,” he said with a theatrical bow. “Where is your tower, sweet princess?”

“The Lucky 38,” she responded shyly, a honeysuckle blush creeping up her neck.

The stranger raised his eyebrows. “Goodness. Royalty indeed.”

Dawn knew, really, that his platitudes were indulgence and nothing more, but there was something about his sentimental charm that set her at ease. When he took her arm and started leading her down the path, she didn’t protest, didn’t even look back at the men who had threatened her just a few minutes before. None of it mattered. All she could think of was his hand warm and firm on her and his voice soft and sweet in her ear. It was shock, she reasoned; temporary nervous impairment. She would let him walk her back and that would be the end of it; there was no need to engage in unnecessary conversation. But his words were gentle and unimposing with an accent she couldn’t quite place, and by the time they reached the Strip, he had drawn far more from her than she had ever meant to offer.

It was a few minutes of hovering absently by the doorway while Dawn pondered how best to excuse herself: though the night’s chill was beginning to seep into her bones, she dreaded the thought of parting from her saviour. As it transpired, he made the decision for her, stating regretfully that he should return home. Taking her hand, he became suddenly serious. “There are many terrors that lurk in the dark. If you must travel after sunset, promise me you will take care.”

She nodded, suddenly breathless under the intensity of his gaze. Without thinking, she asked, “Will I see you again?”

“Perhaps,” he responded with a disarming smile, “Though I fear we may be ships passing in the night.”

“What should I call you?” she asked, though knowing, really, that it was a folly. What use was a name for a stranger she would never meet again?

“Vulpes,” he replied, raising her hand to his lips and pressing a chaste kiss to her knuckles; her heart skipped three beats at the contact, and his eyes rose to meet hers. “If I might ask yours?”

“Dawn,” she breathed.

“Dawn,” he repeated, thumb running circles over the back of her hand, “A name almost as beautiful as you.”

When finally she closed the doors to the Lucky 38 and pressed herself against them, Dawn thought that her skin might never recover from the sudden heat flushing through it. As she readied for bed that night, she hummed a light and merry tune all the while, casting no mind to the villains earlier dispatched by her sudden hero, nor to wondering how, exactly, he had banished them so quickly.

***

In the weeks following, Dawn had almost managed to convince herself to forget him. He was a spark in the night and nothing more—she knew there was no possible way he would match the knight her mind had constructed. Yet her pulse began to race at every dark-haired stranger caught in the corner of her eye, heart sinking at the inevitable realisation that it was, in fact, another. Against her better instincts, she found herself passing through some of Vegas’ less salubrious areas more and more often, even—especially—at times she knew they were best avoided. The young woman didn’t know quite what she was looking for, or what she expected, but it was a compulsion almost beyond her control; however she tried to distract herself, she still was drawn to the streets, to wandering alleyways and avenues, all in the hopes of finding her stranger once more.

Eventually, passing under the rotted sign of a Freeside speakeasy, she found him. He was seated in a faded armchair facing a crackling fire, pale fingers trailing the rim of a glass of whisky.

“Hello,” the courier said softly, hands curled bashful behind her back as she approached. The flames served only to shift shadows over his face, and for a moment she worried that she had mistaken him. But at the sound of her voice he looked up, and those perfect lips formed a smile as he caught sight of her. “My little meadowlark, hello.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion, and he chuckled lightly. “A morning bird, known for its lovely song. Sit.”

Extending an arm to her, he gestured for her to join him; Dawn paled a little at the realisation that there was only one chair.

“I barely know you—" she began to protest, but he shushed her, reaching an arm around her waist and pulling her into his lap.

“You are a stranger here,” he murmured low in her ear, hot breath setting goose bumps skittering across her skin. “Any gossip will be nameless.”

She shivered a little but forced herself to relax, trying to avoid the prickling stares of the other bar patrons like needles in the back of her neck. He seemed to sense her discomfort and pulled her closer to him, one hand curled around her waist while the other rested heavy on her thigh. The sensation was unfamiliar but not uncomfortable, and so close to him she could finally take the time to examine his features. Even in the low light of the bar, she was struck by how perfect his skin was—she longed to run her fingertips over it, to feel if it was as smooth and cold as the porcelain it so resembled. She was a second away from throwing her inhibitions aside and testing her theory when he spoke once more, his voice soothing over her like warm honey.

“What errand brings you here so late?”

“I was looking for you,” she admitted, pressing her reddening face into the crook of his neck. While his smile remained unseen to her, it was apparent in the turn of his voice.

“You promised me you would be careful,” he chastised lightly, tapping her leg. “What if some tragedy had befallen you out there alone?”

“Then you would have to save me once again.” The words were out before she could pull them back, but when she dared to meet his face, there was a deepening hunger in his eyes.

“Darling,” he said slowly, voice low. Raising a hand to her cheek, he brushed an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “If you are looking for salvation, that’s more than I can offer you.”

“And what can you offer me?” she breathed, her pulse beginning to speed.

He chuckled, fingertips tracing her jaw. “That remains to be seen.”

There was something intoxicating about his gaze, something ethereal and almost otherworldly. While Dawn could not possibly have put a word to it, as soon as she looked into his pale eyes it was as if all other thoughts were banished from her mind.

“I-I should go back. It’s late,” she stammered, suddenly feeling very much like a mouse in the grip of a boa.

He tsked good-naturedly, inclining his head. “What man could leave you to wander these cruel streets alone?”

When they approached the Lucky 38 for the second time, they once more delayed outside, the sky beginning to cloud with rain. This time, instead of letting the stranger walk away, the courier posed to him those fateful words that—unbeknownst to her—would be her downfall.

Putting on her brightest Vegas smile, Dawn asked, “Will you come in?”


	2. Rêverie

The air of the cocktail lounge was chilled, despite the warm atmosphere granted by the yellowing lights that buzzed to life upon their entrance. Outside, the rain battered thick against the windowpanes and painted the glass thick with water, blurring any view that might have been found from such a high vantage point.

“Would you like a drink?” Dawn asked politely, shedding her damp outer layers and moving to the counter, behind which were shelves stacked high with a variety of alcohol; reaching over, she clicked on the radio, and across the crackling airwaves a man began to sing in a language unknown to her.

“Absolutely,” Vulpes replied, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “I’m parched.”

_Ils vous montrent des dents—_

Dawn fetched two glasses and started a little when she felt his arms slipping about her waist, giggling nervously when his lips brushed the shell of her ear.

_À croquer la fortune—_

“I hope we will not be disturbed this evening?”

“No,” Dawn assured him, gasping as he began to feather soft kisses down her neck. “We—ah, we’re alone.”

_À décroisser la lune—_

“Excellent,” he purred, his hands beginning to roam. “I’m not sure I would be able to hold myself back, were we not. I could practically devour you.”

Dawn was about to reply, but instead let out a shriek as thunder crashed through the room, and they were plunged into darkness; the lights and radio cut out in an instant, and a high shattering fell through the air as the glass she had been holding tumbled to the floor.

“Keep still!” she exclaimed, dropping to her knees without another thought and beginning to fumble around for it, afraid that they might step on it in the gloom. “I’ll try to pick it—agh!”

Tears stung at the edge of Dawn’s eyes as sharp pain and wet warmth began to pool over her skin where the glass had sliced deep into her wrist. The rivulets running down her arm were dyed black in the dark of the room, but when lightning flashed once more, they were illuminated to a brilliant red. Beside her, Vulpes shifted and her eyes darted up fearfully, trying to make out his form in the shadowy gloom.

“Allow me,” he said softly, taking her arm, and Dawn did not resist, expecting him to examine the cut, or perhaps to pluck a shard of glass tucked into it. But no such thing was to come.

Instead, he lifted her hand gently to his lips, and Dawn shivered as he traced the wound with his tongue, gentle and warm; cautious, almost exploratory. One hand wrapped firm around her arm while the other found her waist, and in a moment he had sealed the cut with his mouth and begun to suck gently. It was an odd sensation and one which immediately raised a blush to her cheeks, for it felt strangely taboo; her instinct was to shift away, or to protest, but before she could react there was a sudden, tingling heat spreading fast down her arm and across her body. It swept through her as a golden glow until there was no coherent thought left in her mind. All that existed to her was that moment, with his hands heavy on her body and his lips hot against her skin. Time was lost—for all she knew, hours could have passed—but when he finally drew away there was no trace of the pain that was once there. Breathless, she could focus only on his lips, stained crimson as he smiled at her in the dim light left to them. His tongue flicked to catch a drop at the edge of his mouth, and she realised that hers had been suspended half-open.

“You are the finest wine ever to touch my tongue,” he murmured, leaving her wrist to flop listless to her side, and moving instead to tangle a hand in her hair. When he leant to kiss her, Dawn moved toward him without thinking, resigning herself to the warm tide threatening to rise over her head. But as they were about to touch, there was a sudden crack of thunder, and Dawn’s heart dropped to her stomach. For in the white spark of lightning, she had caught sight of Vulpes’ bloody mouth, his lips pulled back to reveal sharp pearled fangs.

With a sharp cry, she tried to squirm away, falling back on her elbows ungracefully.

“You’re—” she stammered, knowing she should scream but unable to raise her voice above a whisper. “You’re—"

He was upon her in a second, pinning her body to the floor with his own. “ _Carissima mea_ ,” he began, one hand reaching to caress her cheek. “Listen—"

Overcome with panic, Dawn glanced around the room, searching for anything that could provide her an escape, and another flash of lightning provided it. The glimmer against the thin stem of the dropped glass was faint, but to her desperate eyes it was more precious than gold, and without thinking her arm snapped out to reach for it. But he seemed to know her movements even before she made them, and within a second his hand was upon hers, holding it against the cold floor.

“I would never hurt you,” he said, and something in his voice made her still. When her eyes moved over the shadows of his face, it seemed to be one of grief, or regret—he wore the tired expression of a man who had learned far too young the darkest lessons life had to offer. “You must believe me.”

His last few words collapsed to a murmur, his voice cracking softly.

“What are you?” she whispered, horrified. “If not a man? Some monstrous creature forged by Lucifer himself?”

“I am what you see in front of you.”

“What I see is to be feared.”

“Then tell me to leave, _amata_ ,” he urged, eyes dark, “Cast me from here and I swear I will never return to your door.”

Looking at him then, poised above her with his face a picture of contrition, she knew she could never find it within herself to utter those words. Her focus fell to the wound on her wrist, thin and winding as a pavement crack, and she turned her arm to better see it in the gloom.

“Will I – will I become like you?”

Gently, he shook his head. “No. To become… _this_ —” he paused on the word, eyes slipping from hers for a moment, _“—_ is much more.”

Dawn swallowed, unsure of how to proceed; her heart was thumping so heavily that she thought it might yet leap straight out of her chest. His gaze weighed heavy upon her, steady and unrelenting, and she felt a warmth begin to coil deep in her stomach as the reality of their position sank fully into her mind. With a trembling hand, she brushed feather-light fingertips across his jaw, and he turned his face to kiss her palm.

“What is it like?” she asked softly, trailing her touch to the baby hairs at the nape of his neck.

“Yours?” he replied, and she nodded.

“ _Sanguis dulcis_ ,” he murmured, pressing his face to her neck and inhaling deeply. “Sweet and light; a field of alyssum.”

He began to trail soft kisses across her throat, sucking and nipping at the delicate skin he found there. Dawn shivered at the unfamiliar feeling, running her hands over his clothed shoulders and through his hair, pressing him closer to her and urging him to continue. His lips soon found a cluster of nerves under her jaw, and she let her eyes fall closed, a dizzying ecstasy exploding behind them as his hand slipped over her shirt to cup her breast, the fabric brushing over her sensitive nipples. She was so preoccupied with the sensations that he was creating, and so focused on her need for him to continue, that she did not even notice the whimper that sprang unbidden from her throat when—without warning—he pulled away.

“Stay,” she implored him, a hand on his arm and a quiet desperation in her voice.

“I have delayed too long already,” he responded, gently disentangling himself and pressing his lips to her forehead. “I have business yet to attend, and I must leave before the sun passes the horizon. I will be gone no longer than a week, and I promise you I will send word upon my return.”

And suddenly, irrationally, she wished to crack the traitorous sun like an egg over a bowl. The yellow yolk would drip steady, drowning fields and mixing with the ocean salt and leaving her, under the cover of dark, in the tender embrace of her lover.

But it remained a dream. Instead, there was only the gentle blush of the sky slowly shifting to red. When, a second later, she turned to catch sight of him once more, she saw only the pale curtains he had left fluttering in his wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ils vous montrent des dents, à croquer la fortune, à décroisser la lune - They bare to you their teeth, which will crush fortune and devour the moon. / They will stop at nothing to get what they want.  
> ('Amsterdam', Jacques Brel)


End file.
